by Karen Rose
She studied his profile, noting that he was careful not to look at her now. A muscle twitched in his taut jaw. ‘You’re afraid,’ she murmured. ‘For me. Aren’t you?’
‘Aren’t you?’ he countered. ‘Because if you’re not, you damn well should be.’
That gave her pause. And then she understood. ‘You’re my bodyguard?’
‘No. We are not bodyguards.’ He said it as if reciting from a handbook. ‘That’s why you’re our consultant. Unpaid, of course. Donating your time out of the goodness of your heart, a desire to support your community and to catch the psycho who had a human heart delivered to your car.’
‘Of course,’ she murmured. ‘Your native guide.’
Now he looked at her. ‘Yes. Do you want to quit?’
She thought of Russ’s brutalized body. Of the number ‘I’ burned into his back. Fitzpatrick and Stevie had manipulated the system to keep her safe. ‘No. I think I like this arrangement just fine. I certainly won’t fight you on it. And I’ll be the best native guide you could ever want.’
‘Okay. Now, can I ask you a question?’
She steeled herself for a question about her trial. ‘You can ask.’
‘Are you involved with Thomas Thorne? Specifically, I mean romantically.’
She blinked. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘Friends only. We’re not at all compatible. Thorne keeps a veritable harem and I . . . haven’t.’
‘Good. Are you involved with anyone?’
‘No.’
‘Would you?’
‘Become involved with someone?’ She still studied his profile. He’s as nervous as I am. She’d expected confidence. Swagger. She hadn’t expected nerves. Maybe he wasn’t as dangerous as she’d imagined.
No, Lucy. He is. To you, he is. Say no. Just say no. But her mouth would not cooperate. Just saying no had left her alone for too long. ‘Maybe. It would depend.’
‘On what?’
Think, girl. About the killer leaving you a human heart. You don’t need JD Fitzpatrick distracting you. It would be nice if he stayed focused, too.
‘Lucy?’ he asked when she said nothing. ‘What would it depend on?’
She sighed quietly. ‘Well, for starters, on whether I’m some killer’s number two.’
Monday, May 3, 5.00 P.M.
He lifted his face into the wind, letting it cool him. Then he looked down at his feet. Janet Gordon was done. He hoped she found hell to her liking, because that’s exactly where he’d sent her. She’d died beautifully, with much screaming and weeping and begging.
Just as he’d hoped. He turned the Satisfaction back to shore. He’d take care of her worthless heart back at his plant. The wind was kicking up and he needed a steady hand. Plus, the cement floor would be easier to clean than the deck of his boat. He’d learned the hard way with Bennett – cutting out a human heart, even after death, produced a lot more blood than even he’d anticipated.
But he hadn’t been thinking, and cleaning up the deck of the Satisfaction after Bennett’s kill had taken hours and tons of bleach – which couldn’t be good for the hardwood finish or the marine life in the Bay. So this time he’d planned ahead.
He had a Shop-Vac set up in one of the rooms designed to clean fish. It had a drain, so he could easily empty all the blood he vacuumed out as he cut. He’d have just enough time to prepare the body before delivering Janet.
She didn’t need to be frozen, which was a shame. It’d been fun sending Russ through that big freezer. Kind of an experiment, just to see how he’d come out. Boys and their toys. But Janet would keep until he got her where she needed to be.
Which was wherever Lucy Trask planned to be tonight. The woman was a total creature of habit, thank the good Lord. So if good old Lucy’s habits held firm, he knew exactly where he’d find her. And then she’d find Janet.
Then the cops would come and there would be much brouhaha. A second one, they’d say. A serial killer, they’d moan. The press would go wild.
It would be easy to identify Mrs Gordon. He’d left her breasts. Kind of. They’d find the serial numbers easily enough, which would lead them right back to Bennett. Her son Ryan would come straightaway – if for no other reason than to be certain his inheritance was well tended.
Of course the bank accounts had been cleaned out. By me.
Ryan had no money of his own, poor guy. Mama Janet kept him on a tight financial leash, with a teeny little allowance that barely fed his methadone habit. He’d come back east, and quickly. He’d want the money. And maybe because Ryan would want to prove to himself that Mama really was dead. And I’ll be waiting.
‘Too bad she fucked you over, Ry,’ he murmured. ‘Because even if I let you live, which I will not, you’d be answering to the cops for what you did.’
Because murder had no statute of limitations.
He crouched next to dead Janet and yanked her up by her throat. ‘Right, Mrs Gordon? No fucking statute of limitations. But I didn’t do anything,’ he mimicked cruelly and flung her away. He rose, dusting off his jeans. ‘No, you didn’t. So I did.’
He grabbed the pack of cigarettes from the table next to his tools. One left. He’d bought this pack specifically for Janet. Virginia Slims. They made a smaller burn mark, a benefit since her back was a lot narrower than Bennett’s. He’d used all but one burning the ‘L’ into her skin.
She’d screamed all kinds of useful information, like her bank account passwords, her son’s cell number, and the name of her attorney – the one who held her confession letter. All of which would come in very handy.
He lit up the last cigarette and took a nice long drag. He had time for one smoke before heading back.
Monday, May 3, 5.00 P.M.
Fitzpatrick’s fists had tightened on the steering wheel, his mouth flattening at Lucy’s cool assessment of her possible fate. ‘You’re not going to be any goddamn killer’s second victim, Lucy. It’s not gonna happen. I won’t let it.’
There was the confidence she’d expected. He was nervous about the personal stuff, like whether or not she’d want to be involved with him, but he was completely secure in his duty as a cop. And as her protector. ‘Good to know,’ she murmured.
‘So tell me, what would your becoming involved with me depend on? Please.’
The please undid her. ‘I don’t think you’d understand if I told you.’
The muscle in his jaw was twitching again. ‘Try me.’
Lucy looked away, staring out the window at the I-95 traffic as she searched for an answer. Finally she decided on the truth. ‘It would depend on how exciting you are.’
He was silent for a long moment. ‘I don’t understand.’
Lucy’s smile was rueful. ‘See? I told you.’ She gathered her courage and turned to look at him. ‘I’m a lot of trouble, JD. I’d advise you to keep moving on.’
He frowned, but said nothing and she found herself disappointed. A piece of her wished he’d argue, but another piece of her was glad he didn’t. He might be sweet and he might be kind, but every instinct she had said he’d be a thrill-seeker.
And then she’d become one too. Again. Which couldn’t be allowed to happen. Again. Hyatt had actually done her a favor by dredging up Heath’s death and her trial earlier. It was just the bucket of cold water she’d needed to focus on reality.
Lucy settled back for the rest of the drive to the first Mrs Bennett’s house. Then sat up when Fitzpatrick exited the highway a few exits too early. ‘Where are you going?’
His expression was grim as he pointed. ‘There.’
There was a gas station at the end of the exit ramp, but instead of pulling in, he drove behind the building and parked the car. Pocketing his keys, he came around to her side, opened the door, and popped her seatbelt free.
‘What is—’ was all she had time to say before he took her by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet. She stared up at him, her skin buzzing and her pulse pounding. He was angry. But he was also aroused and that fast, so was
she.
‘Is this exciting enough for you?’ he growled before digging his fingers into her hair, a second before his mouth came down on hers.
Coherent thought fled. Yes. Please. More. He was hot and demanding and hard. Her hands were on his chest, then around his neck as he pressed her against the car. Oh God, he was hard, in all the right places. He ate at her mouth, nips and bites that made her moan. His hands slid down her back, detouring to grab her hips just before they would have closed over her butt. She lifted on her toes, cursing the straight skirt that kept her from wrapping her legs around his waist.
Narcotic. The man was a narcotic. She ripped her mouth away, struggling for control where there was none. This is why you don’t get involved. Not even a little bit. It’s like an alcoholic having ‘just one drink’. You can’t. No maybes. Just no.
His breathing was strident against her cheek, sending new shivers down her spine. ‘Is this exciting enough for you?’ he repeated, much more quietly.
‘Too much,’ she whispered, her arms still around his neck. She needed to move, to push him away but she could not. He felt too good. Smelled too good. Made her feel too good. Alive. Wearily she leaned her forehead against his chest. ‘Way too much.’
‘I should apologize,’ he said roughly. ‘But I’m not sorry. I’ve wanted to do that since this morning.’
‘Do you always do everything you want?’ she asked, a little bitterly.
‘No. Not nearly. And I get the impression that neither do you.’
He was right. She swallowed hard, wishing. ‘What do you do in your spare time?’
‘What?’
She lifted her head, met his dark eyes. ‘Your spare time. How do you spend it?’
His jaw tensed. ‘Are you asking me if I’m involved with anyone? Because if you think I could do this when . . . I’d be no better than Bennett.’
‘No. Stevie told me that you’d had no one since you lost your wife.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘What else did Stevie say?’
‘That you were a good man. A good friend.’
His anger disappeared like mist. ‘Oh.’
‘I need to know, JD,’ she urged, her voice low. ‘Please. Your spare time?’
‘I don’t have a lot of spare time. I sleep. Sometimes I do weekend coaching.’
‘What do you coach?’ Please say something normal. Something safe.
‘Now a little baseball. In the fall, it’ll be football. Why?’
She let herself breathe. That was normal. Americana. I can do that. I can sit in the stands and cheer him on without losing it. She hoped. ‘I just needed to know.’
He was studying her intently. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I know,’ she murmured. Eventually, if this worked out, she’d tell him. She’d have to. But for now, for this moment, he held her in his arms and she was warm, her body needy. It had been a very, very long time. She lifted on her toes, fitting her mouth to his, her kiss light, tentative.
For about five seconds. Then he took the kiss deeper, made it richer. So much hotter. He kept his hands on her hips, but he tightened his grip, as if the effort cost him. He ended the kiss gradually, giving her mouth a little nudge as he pulled away.
‘We have to go,’ he whispered. ‘I have to work.’
‘I know,’ she whispered back. He helped her into the car and buckled her in with a tenderness that made her want to sigh.
He’d pulled the car back onto the highway before clearing his throat. ‘For the record, in the future, that’s how I’d like to spend my spare time.’
He was nervous again. It was sweet. ‘I won’t fight you on it.’
He glanced over with a wry smile. ‘Good to know. We’re almost at the first Mrs Bennett’s house. Tell me everything you can remember about her.’
Chapter Nine
Monday, May 3, 5.15 P.M.
Stevie checked her watch again. There was no way she was going with JD to notify Bennett’s parents. She’d never make it back in time for Cordelia’s graduation.
Which Stevie would not miss, no way, no how. Ah, finally. JD parked behind her car. ‘What took you so long?’ she asked when he and Lucy got out.
‘Traffic,’ he said, but Stevie was no fool. There was something different about him. About Lucy Trask, too. Her lips were a little puffier than they’d been before. Which would have been fine, except that Hyatt had let them know he was watching JD.
That JD and Lucy had stopped for some quick nookie was not a good thing.
Stevie sighed. ‘Let’s get this interview done. I’m not going to be able to go with you to the Bennetts’ in Anderson Ferry. You want to put it off until tomorrow?’
JD shook his head as she’d expected. ‘The parents need to hear it from us before they see it on the news. I’m surprised the story hasn’t already broken.’
‘It did, but the network said they wouldn’t disclose the name until the family had been notified. So far they’ve only reported the body in the park this morning.’
‘That’s good, at least. Do you want to lead with the missus?’
‘Sure. What about Lucy?’
‘I can stay outside,’ Lucy said. ‘I’m fine with that.’
JD frowned. ‘Okay, but lock up,’ he said, as if the woman were Cordy’s age.
To Stevie’s surprise, Lucy just smiled dryly. ‘I’ll be fine.’
Stevie got a piece of paper from her car. ‘It’s the list of Bennett’s girlfriends from the courier. I got backgrounds on a few of them. Three more on that list are from Anderson Ferry. See if you know them. We’ll want to check them out.’
Lucy read the list, wincing. ‘I’m here too, with Doctor Barbie. I’ll see what I remember.’ She shot JD a meaningful look. ‘Because I’m the best damn native guide there is.’
He chuckled and gave her his keys. ‘Don’t play with the radio.’
‘Lucy seems . . . comfortable,’ Stevie said as they walked up to the front door.
‘She’s not as rigid as you might think,’ he murmured.
‘Just be careful, JD,’ Stevie warned. ‘Hyatt’s watching you.’
‘I know,’ was all he said, then knocked on Mrs Bennett’s door.
‘First name is Helen,’ Stevie murmured just before the door swung open, revealing a chicly dressed woman who’d undergone way too much plastic surgery.
‘Can I help you?’ Helen asked.
‘Yes, ma’am. I’m Detective Mazzetti and this is Detective Fitzpatrick. We’re here to talk to you about your ex-husband, Dr Russell Bennett.’
Helen looked confused. ‘They sent detectives? I never expected that. Come in.’
Stevie swallowed her frown. ‘What were you expecting, ma’am?’ she asked.
Helen led them into a very nicely furnished living room. ‘Well, I expected a phone call at the most. You’ll want the details for your report. Let me get the papers for you.’
‘Wait.’ Stevie gently held the woman’s arm. ‘Why do you think we’re here?’
‘Because of the fraud report I started with the bank this morning,’ she said, then frowned. ‘But you’re not.’ Her expression changed to panic. ‘Is it one of my boys?’
‘Sshh,’ Stevie soothed. ‘Not your kids. This isn’t about your kids.’
Weakly, Helen sank onto a sofa. ‘Thank God. Then what is it? What kind of detectives did you say you were?’
‘We’re from Homicide,’ Stevie said. ‘We’re here about your ex-husband.’
Helen Bennett’s face lost all its remaining color. ‘Russell? He’s dead?’
‘We believe so, ma’am.’ Stevie sat next to her. JD took a chair across the room.
‘You believe so?’ Helen repeated, her voice hollow and shocked. ‘What does that even mean, you believe so? Is he or isn’t he?’
‘We’re still working on a final identification,’ Stevie said gently. ‘But scars and bone breaks match. Your ex-husband was beaten too badly for a visual identification.’
Helen covered
her mouth with a hand that shook. ‘Oh my God.’
‘I need to ask you some questions, Mrs Bennett, and they might not be comfortable ones. For that I apologize. Can you tell me about the fraud report?’
‘Our bank funds were stolen. Russell kept a bank account for the boys, separate from my alimony and child support. It was for big, special things.’
‘And you tried to use that account?’ Stevie prompted.
‘Yes. My oldest son is twelve today. I used the debit card for his gift this morning, but the card was denied. The bank said the account was empty. I called Russ, but only got his voicemail. I was furious. I thought he’d cleaned out the account again.’
‘Again? He’d done this before?’
‘A few times, if one of his floozies wanted something expensive.’
‘When did you last speak with your ex-husband, ma’am?’
‘Two weeks ago. Our youngest had a special recital and wanted Russ there.’
‘Did Dr Bennett go to the recital?’
‘No. He had some excuse, as usual. This time he was meeting a new client.’
‘Which day did you talk to him?’
‘Sunday, two weeks ago. Russ said he’d come, but then he called a few hours before the recital and said he’d gotten tied up. My son cried himself to sleep that night.’
‘What time did he call you?’
‘It was just after one. I should have known something was wrong.’
‘Why?’
‘Normally he just wouldn’t show. But this time he called, said he was tied up and told me to tell the boys he loved them.’ Tears rolled down her face. ‘I told him to go to hell.’
Stevie patted her hand. ‘Did he call your house phone or your cell?’ Proof of the call would cement Lucy’s alibi. Lucy would have been halfway to LA by then.
‘My cell. Do his parents know?’
‘No. We’re going to tell them when we leave here.’
She nodded uncertainly. ‘I should call them first.’
‘We’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t,’ Stevie said softly. ‘This is a police matter now. We need to talk to them. Do you know of anyone who wanted to hurt your husband?’